Threshold
by Eratta
Summary: Dick Grayson returns to Gotham as Nightwing, only to find that he's still not over his issues with Bruce, or his love for Barbara. Ignores Batman Beyond. Rated MA for later chapters
1. Chapter 1

Gotham City sprawled across three coastal inlets 10,000 feet below. From his window seat on the plane, Dick Grayson hitched his mouth into a mirthless grin. It's wrong, what they say - you CAN go home again. As long as you realize that it's not home that changes; it's you.

Even from here, he could make out the 40-story pillar of glass that was Wayne Enterprises in the heart of the financial district; a shining beacon of hope in a city more known for its moody feel and exceptionally theatrical crime. It looked exactly the same as the first day he saw it all those years ago - he'd bet every person inside was the same as they'd ever been, including the inhabitant of the corner office on the top floor, one Bruce Wayne.

Dick wasn't going anywhere near that building, or the imposing manor he'd called home for more than 10 years. He was going to fly under the radar. Get himself situated and plan his next move. At least, that's what he'd been telling himself in the two months since he'd leased the loft on the lower east side. He'd used the money from the Haley Circus Trust wisely - the loft was in a middling part of town, so it was cheap. No nosey neighbors meant his retrofits had been made with little fuss. The occasional shipment of a crate - of smoke pellets, custom wingdings, medical supplies, spare parts for one very tricked-out new bike, and all the other things a vigilante needs - didn't raise any suspicion.

So there really wasn't any reason for him to feel a little jumpy upon seeing his home city - no one knew he was coming. He wasn't stepping off a private jet to the flash of press cameras - he wasn't Bruce Wayne's charity case anymore. Now he was Dick Grayson, private citizen.

So why did Dick Grayson feel like the prodigal son returning home?

#

He hadn't planned on going out so soon, but he soon realized it was inevitable. The very air of Gotham called to him - he knew nightfall by the smell, not the clock. His whole body itched to feel the wind. So on his very first night in Gotham, Nightwing took to the rooftops.

He hadn't called the Manor. Not even to tell Alfred he was back in the states. While he wanted them to know he was all right - and a few postcards had taken care of that - he wasn't ready to face them. Not yet. Maybe that's why he needed to be out on the roofs and in the alleys tonight - much as he wanted to be a new person, some small part of him longed for who he had been, and his other persona was the bridge. Robin would always be at home on these dark streets, even if Dick wasn't. Would Nightwing?

He needed to find out.

Tonight's route was carefully designed to take him as far away from Batman as possible. The Garden District was always quiet - private security and very large fences saw to that. It wasn't part of the usual Bat patrol. He was alone, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop... listening. Waiting for the feeling of a shadow behind him to tell him he'd been spotted.

It irked him, that he couldn't shake the feeling. So much so that he found himself gliding towards downtown, eyes on the skyline for a familiar pointy-eared shape. When there was nothing there, he headed east towards the commercial shipping docks. No sooner had he taken up a spot on the rooftop - his favorite, one he'd perched on so many times before as Robin - he felt it.

He stayed in his crouch. For months he'd thought of his moment. What he'd say. What he'd do. He wouldn't be the first to speak.

"And who are you supposed to be?"

The sound of the boy's voice made Nightwing whirl - he found himself starring at a younger version of himself. A dark-haired adolescent in a scarlet and black suit. An unmistakable R on the left side of his chest.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Nightwing said, forgetting that he wasn't going to speak. His tone was mild, but his insides burned. Replaced. He'd been replaced. And so quickly. Barely a year. He'd envisioned hundreds of scenarios; consequences of his leaving. This wasn't one of them. It hurt in a way he didn't think was possible. And it killed him that he could still let himself be hurt...by Batman.

The kid - Robin, he reminded himself - crouched into an offensive position. Like he could take on the REAL Robin, Nightwing scoffed.

"Talk," the kid said.

"Robin."

Nightwing's belly flipped and he forgot the boy. She melted out from the shadows, auburn hair and short cape tugged forward around her by the wind. She stopped at Robin's side and looked Nightwing over. Her weight shifted to one hip - one of her tells. She knew him, then.

"So," she said lightly, "what are we supposed to call you now? Bluebird?" If she felt any emotion at seeing him, her voice didn't betray it. Nightwing wished he could see her eyes.

"You know this guy?" Robin asked. He dropped his hands, following Batgirl's lead.

"Nightwing." He heard himself say. His mind felt numb. First the shock of the kid, and then seeing her... he'd been right. He wasn't ready. Especially not for her.

She cocked her head jauntily. "Nightwing. Suits you."

The coolness in her voice raised his hackles. She'd never spoken to him like that before. That was the tone she reserved for the meatheads who cat-called her around campus in their college days; the tone of polite disdain. It almost hurt worse than seeing a new Robin.

"Good thing I didn't expect to put the red and green back on," he said acidly, shooting a glare at the kid, "that would've been awkward."

Robin's glance didn't waver but his hands twitched - he was putting the pieces together.

"Don't worry," Nightwing continued as he released his gliders, "I'll stay out of your hair."

He jumped from the roof and let the wind swallow her response. If she'd made one. He assumed - told himself - she'd made one.

#

He slept badly that night. Rage made every bad situation, every argument with Batman play on a loop in his mind. But by the time he dragged himself out of bed at dawn, he'd exhausted the rage. There was no steam left to fume about Bruce doing what Bruce always did. And that left him vulnerable to fresher memories.

"So what are we supposed to call you now? Bluebird?"

Batgirl. Barbara.

He dragged himself to the kitchenette and fixed a mug of instant coffee. He drank the whole thing through a grimace - growing up with a professional cook making every meal kind of ruins bachelorhood for you - and sat down on the floor in front of a box. The last box, full of the personal stuff he didn't want to look at every day, but couldn't seem to get rid of.

He opened it carefully, knowing what was on top: a bubble-wrapped photo of Dick and Babs. He'd saved it through all his travels because, even when he was angry with her for her secret, for confiding in Bruce but not him... he wasn't just angry.

He'd saved this photo, because it had been taken on the day he realized he loved Barb. Not that he'd had the chance to tell her. The big blow-up was just 5 weeks after that happy picnic. He didn't allow himself to wonder what could have been. If he hadn't been Robin... and she hadn't been Batgirl.

It had been so painful and confusing, to be in love with two girls simultaneously, but not able to pursue either fully... and to realize that she had some big secrets of her own. He'd been so furious when she found out two girls he thought about late at night were one and the same. How dare she risk her life like that, how dare she muscle in on his territory... how dare she be so perfect for him.

No. Not gonna think about it. It's over. It's BEEN over. His mind made up, he put the photo back in the box.

Except... as he showered, and went out to the auto store for supplies to tune up his bike, he couldn't stop thinking about what could have been.

For hours while he worked on the bike, his mind was on her. And later when he picked up Chinese takeout from the little place three blocks away, he couldn't deny it.

The stomach flip was what did it. A visceral, unintentional reaction the moment he saw her. Just like the first time he'd seen her - as Batgirl, and as Barbara. He'd been carrying that love around, bubble-wrapped against harm, and packed away so he wouldn't have to look at it, just like the photo.

There was no future for them; that much was crystal clear. Too much had happened, too many trusts betrayed. But he'd ignored his feelings for too long, and now they were... a distraction. They'd never had a real conversation since all the secrets came out, and that was the problem.

The rational thing would be to call her. Ask her to coffee. Have that real conversation.

After a lifetime running around rooftops in tights, Dick wasn't about to start being rational now. He'd just have to keep away. Shorten his time in Gotham. Stick around just long enough to figure out where he wanted to settle, and then disappear again. This time, for good.


	2. Chapter 2

The cave was colder than usual. The usual chittering of bats coming back from a night's hunt was missing - they too were huddled up from the cold, deep in the inaccessible recesses of the cave.

Batgirl rubbed her tired eyes with fingertips that were quickly going numb. She'd been down here for hours, trying to trace the movements of one very tricky, very well-connected arms dealer.

Batman had assigned her the task weeks ago, and despite all her best efforts, she hadn't turned up so much as an alias. Simply put, this wasn't detective work - it was hacker work. Batman's entire operation was designed on the basis of detective work. But to catch a fish as big as this one, she couldn't just chase it. He was too good at cleaning up after himself. She'd have to set a trap. That was where the hacking came in, and also where Batman drew the line.

She'd thought about explaining that to him once... and quickly abandoned it. Batman didn't accept excuses and Batman didn't change his rules. Hacking was dangerous. She could get caught and expose them. She'd simply have to find another way. But now, after three weeks with nothing to show for the hours she'd spent on it, hacking was starting to look more and more like the only option.

She had another hour, maybe two, before Batman and Robin returned. He'd expect a report. He wouldn't like it if she had nothing, again.

Pushing back from the bank of monitors, she stretched her arms overhead and twisted to release the kinks in her back. If she was going to hack, better to do it from her own place. There were some things Batman didn't need to know.

Forty minutes later, Barbara Gordon's car re-appeared on the streets of Gotham's trendy Burnside. In this part of town, at this time of night, things were pretty quiet. The air was growing colder - autumn was quickly giving way to winter. Another few weeks and there would likely be snow.

Another 10 minutes saw her trudging down the hall to her top floor apartment. Her body ached in the way that made her consider making a quick patrol, just for the exercise.

No, she told herself. Need to get the dirt first. Plus, going out meant a risk of running into him. Nightwing.

Opening her three heavy-duty locks - Dad did this at every apartment she lived in, no matter how nice the neighborhood - she breathed in the welcoming smell of her own home. Here she didn't have to pretend that she wasn't on edge. Here she could straight-up react, if she wanted to.

To prove it to herself, she picked up a pillow from the couch and threw it against the window. It didn't make her feel any better.

"Dammit, Dick." She hissed as she put the pillow back where it belonged. "You always did have impeccable timing."

She kicked off her shoes and grabbed a yogurt from the fridge. Slinging her bag over her shoulder again, she went into the bedroom.

First things first - her suit was restocked and replaced in its special case in the back of her closet. A quick, steaming hot shower and change of clothes energized her. In her old Gotham Knights sweats and with her damp hair twisted into a knot on top of her head, she pulled her laptop out of her bag and hooked it up to her own growing bay of processors, monitors and keyboards.

She took comfort in the fact that she still had some secrets - no one, not even Batman, knew how far she'd gone into the hacking world in recent months.

It had started almost a year ago. Dick had been gone for eight weeks without a word. Even after The Big Fight, she'd expected he'd at least let them know he was alive and well. But when she didn't get so much as a text, the concern hardened into anger. How dare he leave her like that, like it was her fault that he'd had such a falling out with Bruce. How dare he fall completely off the grid, knowing how worried she'd be.

How dare he act like they hadn't been in love at all.

So one night, after one too many glasses of wine, she'd emailed. Poured all her pain and rage and love into one soppy, messy email. And regretted it a full 30 seconds after sending it.

Hacking into his email to delete it hadn't even been a conscious thought. Her fingers just danced across the keyboard and erased all evidence of her weakness. But once she was in his email, it was impossible not to do a little snooping.

Flight itineraries, funds transfers... he was traipsing across Asia and South America. A young vigilante's coming-of-age tour in martial arts studies. Plenty of information, but no answers. A search of her name - full name, nickname, code name - turned up zero results.

She went deeper, hacking into his bank accounts. Among the usual food and travel purchases, a few things stood out: receipts from a florist's shop. A purchase from a prominent online lingerie store. A confirmation for tickets to the ballet.

She'd stopped looking after that. He'd left her and apparently wasn't missing her. Replaced. And worse, he was sleeping with her, whoever she was. It stung that after more than a year together, Dick and Barb never actually done that. Countless dates and quiet nights in had been interrupted by what she now knew was Robin's work. She'd been frustrated... but understanding. He needed to earn his keep as the Ward. It was important to him. She didn't question the odd hours or high number of emergency pages. She trusted him.

But now he was romancing - who actually buys lingerie these days? \- some trick he barely knew and it cut deep. She stopped looking. Vowed that since he obviously didn't care, neither did she.

Weeks turned into months. She'd buried herself in Barbara's and Batgirl's work. She'd become Batman's partner, until Tim Drake entered their lives. That had pained her, to see another in the suit she loved almost as much as her own. But it had been good for them. Good for Batman. And Bruce. And her, she had to admit. The beauty of their nightlife was so much of it didn't require words. It was the communication of action. As a trio, they fit. It worked. It helped her forget most of the pain.

And then Nightwing showed up.

She'd gotten to the rooftop just in time to see Robin take offensive stance. She'd kept to the shadows as Robin spoke, ready to launch a surprise attack from the side when the vigilante turned. Her breath caught in her throat. She knew that body. Knew the way it stood, the set of the head. She didn't want to believe it... and didn't want to believe how high her heart soared in that moment, at exactly the same time that the bottom of her stomach dropped out.

"So, what are we supposed to call you now? Bluebird?"

She'd been proud of how cool she sounded. Months of working with Batman had helped her school her emotions. She may have imagined it, but he seemed to stand a little stiffer at the sound of her voice. Good. 

Barbara shook herself out of the daydream. Dick was back. For now, anyway. It meant nothing. Nothing had changed - his prickly demeanor and oh-so-dramatic exit from the rooftop proved that. With any luck, he'd move on soon and she could go back to forgetting about him.

Barbara rolled her shoulders and got to work. Hacking was better than pining. Hacking didn't abuse her emotions, or leave her just when she needed it most. Hacking would always be there, and with it, no one could ever hurt Barbara Gordon with secrets again.

#

Nightwing's back ached. His kitchenette stool wasn't meant to be used for hours on end like this.

He'd been back in Gotham a month, and things had gone pretty much according to plan. Let everyone know you're back in town, check. Casually run in to Alfred at the grocery store so he can see you with his own eyes, check. Find a new case to work, check.

The trick had been finding a case that didn't have Batman's hands all over it. In the end, Dick had decided to focus on the crime rings that exported from Gotham, rather than imported in. It didn't take long to find a new satellite ring off-shooting from Bludhaven.

Despite being close to Gotham, Bludhaven may as well have been a world away. Dirtier and more corrupt than any other city within 500 miles, it still managed to fly under the radar. Even after all this time, it still didn't have it's own resident vigilante. That probably had more to do with the flashier criminals that tended to flock to Gotham or Metropolis. Bludhaven didn't have supervillians, but it definitely had problems all the same.

Now that he had a target, Dick was remembering why Batman always did the research. Dick's strengths were physical. His in-the-field sleuthing skills were second only to Batman's, and not even Batman could match his acrobatic agility and speed. But navigating the information super highway had never been his strong suit. And it was harder than he remembered. Decades of dealing with the Batman had made the criminals savvier. Gone were the days where you could check out the weekly shipping roster and spot something fishy, or shake down an informant for easy information. Every signal was bounced around the world multiple times, triple-encoded, blah blah blah.

There was no going around it - Dick was stuck. What little information he had was gleaned the old-fashioned way: spending time around the seedier bars and eavesdropping. He knew someone named March was buying up labor in Gotham with seemingly endless cash, and there was some kind of drug component being manufactured in one of the old factory buildings on the south side. The lot of it was supposed to move to Bludhaven, and soon. Only, he couldn't find out how, and when. That was weeks ago; his window was closing.

Dick ground his teeth. There was no way around it. He'd have to ask Batman for help.

He massaged his aching lower back as he hobbled over to the hidden panel where he kept his suit. The satellite earpiece was there, already tuned to the frequency the Bat Clan used. It had been on the whole month. On, and silent. He wasn't really sure why... emergencies, maybe. Not that he wanted them calling him... did he?

Just get it over with.

"Batman."

It was a long few seconds before that familiar icy, steely voice responded.

"Nightwing."

His mouth suddenly went dry, and his heartbeat quickened. Get a grip, Grayson.

"I'm working a case." He didn't want to say the rest. But he had to. "I need a little help getting information. Thought I might drop by the cave later."

The request was met by silence. Dick willed himself not to break first.

"I'm busy. Call Batgirl."

Dick fumed. He curled a fist around the tiny earbud and squeezed, watching the blue veins pop out against his white knuckles.

What else had he expected, really? Batman was never chatty. Batman didn't make gestures. Batman didn't compromise.

Call Batgirl.

Barbara had studied computer science in college. She was good at it. It wouldn't surprise him if she'd become an expert on all things Bat Intelligence.

He did not want to call her. Calling her would make him... feel things. Dick did not want to feel things.

But she was the only one who would give him the information he needed.

He brought the earbud to his lips again.

"Batgirl."

"...Ro-Nightwing?"

"I need a favor."

#

A favor, he'd said. Batgirl, reaching the pinnacle of her arc, fired off another line and transitioned smoothly around the sky scraper. That favor was a heck of a lot of information on one Michael Match, a rising drug-dealer based out of Bludhaven.

Batgirl smirked to herself. Weeks of "research" had led Nightwing nowhere. But one hour of her specialized digging and she knew everything about the guy from his mother's paternal grandparents to his blood type. Oh, and the address of the shell company he'd established six months ago, which was currently renting out a small factory building in south side Gotham.

A quick hack of his phone records showed his texts. October 13th was showing up a lot. Odds were good that was the night of the drop. No train, no boat - March was a fan of diversification. Twenty cars and trucks would transport the drugs over the course of twelve hours.

"Thanks, you're a lifesaver." Dick had said.

"Meet at your loft?"

"How did you -?, never mind. I don't need any help."

"That's not what you said when you called."

"I don't need the other kind of help. Besides, don't you have rounds with Batman?"

"He can spare me. This looks like twenty, maybe thirty guys, Dick. Don't be stupid."

He'd stopped responding after that.

If he thinks he can just call me up for a quick info dump and then leave me in the dark, he's got another thing coming.

She knew better than the surprise him at the loft. Better to just show up to the bust, where he couldn't make a scene. She told herself she had no choice. He needed help - twenty guns for hire was still twenty guns. His stupid pride would get him killed if she didn't intervene.

She ran lightly to the edge of the factory building and crouched by the edge. She surveyed the alley below the night vision lenses of her cowl rendering everything in stark contrast; yep, there was an awful lot of activity in this alley. Lots of shifty looking guys, and a few girls, casting wary eyes in all the dark corners.

A puff of air blew a particular scent across her nose: Chanel Blue. She turned and stared at the dark. Nightwing stalked out of it, stealth abandoned. His mouth a deep frown.

"You're impossible," He growled.

"And you're an idiot. Twenty three so far, and counting. All with semi-automatics. How do you want to handle it?"

"So now my opinions matter?"

Batgirl bit her tongue and counted to 10. They couldn't do this now. They needed to focus.

"This is your bust. I'll follow your lead."

After a moment he peered down into the alley.

"You caught me thirty feet away, in the dark. Maybe I do need your help, if I'm slipping up that badly."

It was as close to an apology as she would get, she knew.

"You should shower before putting on the suit," she murmured. He turned and blinked at her, surprised.

"Chanel Blue. I'd know it anywhere."

His mouth quivered, prompting the corner of Batgirl's mouth to tug up into a tiny grin. It felt good, catching him off-guard.

But they sobered quickly - four more hired hands speed-walked into the alley. The factory delivery door slid up, and boxes of various sizes started coming out. The hired hands formed two orderly lines, moving the boxes towards the cards and trucks that waited just around the corner.

"Got a plan?" Batgirl whispered.

"Stop the bad guys?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "First priority is making sure those boxes don't leave Gotham."

"No, first priority is taking down March."

She stared at him. "You can't be serious. He might not even be here."

"He'll be here. Guys like him like to be seen every now and then to remind the help to keep their mouths shut. And to make sure no one's swiping from the top. If we don't get him tonight, he'll disappear and start over somewhere else."

She gaped at him. "And you didn't want me to come. You'd have let all these creeps AND the drugs go just to get to him?"

"Lose the battle, win the war."

"That's now how we do things."

The look he gave her was cold.

"We?"

Batgirl knew a nerve when she touched one. "Okaaaay... so you go after Match, IF he's here, and I do what, exactly? Stand in the road and hope the cars just stop for me?

Below, the dynamic changed. Fear rippled it's way through the line of goons, trailing back to one slight figure in a rain-slicker. He pried open one box and pulled out a handful of powder-filled bags, weighed them against his palm, and nodded.

March - it had to be March - headed towards a waiting car at the opposite end of the alley.

Nightwing stood and released his gliders.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out."

He fell forward off the roof, letting the updraft of the wind carry him noiselessly toward his prey.

Batgirl felt a brief surge of pure jealousy before shooting a line to the fire escape across the alley. He can actually fly now, the jackass.

Nightwing planted his feet in the back of one big thug, shoving him head-first into the brick wall. Nightwing twisted and landed on the loading platform just as the door was closing behind Match. He heard a lock click in place.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and dropped into a low kick, taking out the knee of the next closest guy.

A small grey ball bounced down next to him and released thick smoke in seconds. Nightwing saluted the Batgirl-shaped shadow that swung over his head before turning to the task at hand; he pulled a small credit-card shaped item from one gauntlet and wedged it right below the door lock. It beeped twice to confirm activation, and a small explosion took care of the lock.

Nightwing slipped into the dark factory.

Batgirl watched him disappear and cursed herself for wanting to follow him; she had a different job. The confusion of the smoke pellets gave her precious seconds to get to the alley's entrance. A semi-truck there - the largest vehicle in the fleet - was her target.

Batgirl swung towards it, noting the few perps who made it out of the alley and were now scurrying for cover like so many cockroaches. She landed lightly on the back of the truck. She leaned down just enough to spot the reflection of a rifle in the passenger side mirror. Hoisting herself up, she crept forward. The engine turned on, making the truck vibrate beneath her feet.

She crossed the last ten feet at a run and pulled two batarangs into her hands. Vaulting forward, she thrust the pointed ends deep into the roof of the truck cab and swung her legs down, around, and through the window. The driver slammed into the passenger. The driver was out cold - she pushed him out of the car and as the passenger fumbled with the rifle. A bone-breaking kick to his wrist ended that, and then he too was out on ground. Batgirl released the brake and floored the truck, cutting off another car trying to escape. She watched the speedometer climb to forty mph and waited... waited... SPUN the wheel hard. She dove out the driver window and rolled as she hit the ground. The whole truck spun, and the cab hit the ancient brick wall with a sickening crunch. The momentum of the impact rippled through the whole truck, turning it on its side and wedging it firmly in the alley's entrance.

Batgirl surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction for a moment, then turned to ready herself for the dozen or so thugs still in the alley.

Nightwing could sense something wasn't right. He hadn't caught a glimpse of March since entering the factory. But he knew the only other entrance to the street was on the West side of the building, which is why he'd come straight here. The door was locked - March hadn't been through it yet. But March should have been here by now. Unless he wasn't intending to escape.

Nightwing looked up. It was starting to drizzle, and clouds covered the moon. Even if he could see, March didn't seem like the type to try to climb out of a half-rotted roof; too much chance of slipping and breaking his neck. No, he had to still be in the building. Nightwing shivered in his suit - he was getting wet and stiff sitting here. He climbed out of his spot on the support beam and dropped to the floor.

Even with his night vision settings on highest contrast, he couldn't make out a body anywhere. Where is he?

Dick didn't see the crackling electricity of the taser, but he heard it fly through the air toward him. He turned to block it, and saw the trajectory was wrong - it wouldn't hit him, it would land at his feet. He didn't have time to register why that was very, very bad.

White light blinded him and a roar of rushing water filled his ears as his body convulsed, and then all was black.

Batgirl was trussing up the last of her catch when she saw a lighting flash in the factory windows. Years of being a vigilante and a lifetime as a policeman's daughter had given her certain instincts - she knew them when she felt them.

"Batman," she said into her cowl, already running to the nearest window "Mayday."

"Acknowledged. ETA fifteen minutes."

Shit. Fifteen minutes was a lifetime in an emergency.

Batgirl crashed through the frosted glass window just in time to see March flee through the front door. The rumbling of an engine outside told her he was getting away... but she couldn't think about that. Nightwing lay in a puddle, the blue of his crested chest glowing faintly in the drizzle.

Batgirl's body moved of it's own accord - she was kneeling next to him, digging under the fabric at his neck to get a pulse. She put her ear to his mouth to feel for breath... and found none.

Cold seeped into her bones. No. No no no no no nonononono -

The word repeated endlessly as her eyes roved; her training taking over as it was supposed to. There, at the foot of a stairwell - an old industrial medicine cabinet. She lurched for it and tore it open - standard first aid equipment, maybe 10 years old... and one AED: an automated external defibrillator.

She grabbed it and brought it back to Nightwing. Stripping off her other glove, she groped his torso; searching for the hidden zipper or catch that would get the suit off. There. Two quick zips and she had his chest exposed. Trained as a first responder since she was 18, she knew how to use this device. She stuck the pads on him and pushed the button that would charge the machine, praying the battery still had some juice.

It took long seconds to charge... but it charged. The blinking light turned steady, and another push of the single button sent 3,000 volts into Nightwing. His body lurched sickeningly - Batgirl suddenly found her mouth filling with saliva, the way it did when she was about to vomit. Nightwing choked and spluttered, but he was breathing.

Batgirl dragged him into her arms, supporting his back against her chest to aid his struggling breath. How may minutes ago had she called Batman? Vaguely she noticed her own fingers shaking. She gripped him tighter.

"Just hold on, Dick. I've got you. Just hold on."


	3. Chapter 3

Pain. The first thing he could feel was... pain. All over, inside and out. And a feeling of... tightness, like he was too big for his skin.

"Dick."

He opened his eyes groggily - didn't want to, wanted to go back to sleep for another eon or two - but The Voice pulled him to the light.

Literally, a light. It was shining above his face. Dentist? Dick wondered fuzzily. But then the edges sharpened, and he knew he was in the cave. Batm- no, Bruce was looking down at him. He was still in the suit, but missing the cowl. That was enough to shock him fully awake. Bruce never exposed himself, even in the cave. Dick struggled to sit up.

"What -?"

"Lie still. You were shocked. Can you remember?"

Dick decided lying back down was probably for the best - every muscle in his body was screaming. Even his hair felt like it hurt. He thought back... how long ago? Last night, maybe? The factory, the rain... the taser.

"Taser." He mumbled.

"I see."

Dick's temper flared. "I see" was "you idiot" in Bat-speak. He tried sitting up again - he didn't want to stick around for the lecture that he knew was coming. Dick moaned as he reached vertical. His head swam and his lungs hurt. He suddenly felt nauseated. A stainless steel bowl came into view. The boy was holding it.

The adolescent face housed a pair of eyes that were much older. Despite the Alfred-issue clothes, Dick knew a hard-luck case when he saw it - this was a kid who had seen too much. Maybe he, too, was part of Dick's and Bruce's orphan boys club. His resentment over being replaced deflated and shame took it's place. Looking into that face, Dick remembered how much he'd needed to be Robin back in the early days... it wasn't so different from how he needed to be Nightwing now.

The boy gave Dick a half-shrug and lopsided grin.

"If you're gonna hurl, try not to hit the floor. I'm the one who'll have to clean it."

Dick laughed, startling them both. The boy's smile grew.

"Fair enough," Dick said. He held out his right hand, and realized it was still gloved. Tugging the heavy gauntlet off, he offered a shake to the boy.

"Dick Grayson. But you knew that."

"Yeah. Tim Drake," Tim said.

He turned to see Bruce coming with a blood pressure cuff. Dick belatedly realized he was hooked up to a number of machines and was getting a saline drip. He rolled up his left sleeve.

"What happened?" he asked as Bruce slipped the cuff over his arm.

"Cardiac arrest. Luckily there was an AED in the building; Batgirl brought you back."

Dick nodded slowly. He'd been very, very lucky.

"But how?" he wondered out loud. "Kevlar is plastic. It should be electrically non-conductive."

"The rain." Bruce said quietly, easing the cuff onto Dick's bicep. "The fibers got saturated enough that the water in them could hold a charge."

Bruce carefully didn't look at him as he said it, fiddling with the cuff instead. He pumped it full of air and released, watching the dial carefully. Dick chewed the inside of his cheek. Finally he gave a lusty sigh. "Go ahead. Give me the lecture." Bruce's icy eyes finally met his, inscrutable as ever. "You know you want to."

"I don't." Bruce said.

One of Dick's brows crept towards his hairline as he slowly slid to his feet. "Time was you never passed up a chance to ream out the Boy Blunder."

His legs, muscles still shaky from their jolt, started to give way. Bruce's strong hand caught him under one arm while Tim wedged himself under the other. Together they sat Dick back down on the bed.

Dick looked into Bruce's face, and was stunned to find it... scrutable. He almost looked like... something.

"Things change. You're not a boy anymore."

Dick blinked. "Are you sure I'm not dead?"

Bruce's eyes held his for a moment longer before flicking back to the monitors. "You need rest. We can move you to your old room -."

"No," Dick protested. It was hard to argue - his eyes were getting heavy. But more than anything he didn't want to go upstairs. Not like this. "Here."

"... All right."

Bruce pulled out a heavier blanket, as though he'd expected this. He spread it over Dick, and Dick sleepily wondered when Bruce had last tucked him in.

#

He woke to the sound of rapidly clicking keys. Dick rolled over... and out of the medical bed, onto the cold stone of the cave floor. The clicking stopped.

"...Ow."

"You just can't stay out of trouble, can you, Birdbrain?"

Nightwing groaned and let Batgirl help him up. "Guess I deserve that." The action of settling him on the medical bed brought her face close to his. Her hair brushed his cheek. His stomach flipped again. She was so close he could feel the heat of her, turning his own skin into delicious-feeling gooseflesh.

"I can't believe you survived on your own for a year." She quipped. She was pulling away, and Dick found himself leaning towards her.

"Hey,"

He reached out and closed one hand lightly on her wrist. Batgirl froze and stared at him. Was she holding her breath?

"You saved my life."

Old Barbara would have smirked and said something sassy. Or reamed him for being an idiot. Or kissed him.

But Batgirl just stared at him, her mouth a tight line. Her face carefully blank. It unnerved him, seeing the "bat face" on her. Barbara was always so honest, so forthright even in costume-

"Yeah, well. Glad you're not dead."

She tugged her wrist out of his grasp and picked his blanket up from the floor. Dick's heart was hammering in his chest and his mouth was dry.

"You're mad at me."

"I'm not."

"Liar."

"Fine. You scared the hell out of me, Grayson. Happy?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

Her eyes narrowed. She pulled back her cowl - maybe that's where Batman picked that up - and took a deep breath. "We're not talking about last night, are we."

"Well, it applies to last night, too, but... no."

She considered him for a long moment. Dick couldn't breathe.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she said, voice husky. She hugged herself and looked away.

He didn't know why he suddenly needed to do this. Why he couldn't stop himself after deliberately avoiding her so as NOT to have this conversation... but something in the way she looked at him, the way she spoke to him... He didn't like it. He needed to reverse it. Needed the Old Barb back. Why couldn't she at least be angry?

"Didn't think you'd miss me."

There. That had to do it. Fireworks in three...two... one...

But she didn't take the bait. And she still wouldn't look at him. Dick felt his stomach sinking.

Barbara turned on her heel and headed for the stairs to the manor.

"I'll tell Alfred you're up," she said over her shoulder.

Dick gingerly swung his feet to the floor, noting he wore only a hospital gown when he felt pure cold on his backside.

"Barb, wait -"

Dick's body, still weak from the electrocution, was the slowest it had ever been. Like moving through molasses! He was stepping out of the grandfather clock and nearly collided with Alfred.

"Master Dick!"

Dick held Alfred in place by the arms as he craned his head, searching for Barbara. Two headlamps suddenly winked on outside and swept the room - a car was pulling down the driveway.

"She seemed in quite a rush." Alfred commented, with just a touch of reproach in his voice.

"I was apologizing!"

Alfred stepped out of Dick's hold and closed the grandfather clock. He braced Dick's left elbow and started to lead him through the living room.

"Ah. Well, perhaps..."

"Perhaps what, Alfred?"

"Perhaps she's not ready to forgive you yet, Master Dick."

Dick deflated. Alfred patted his shoulder kindly. "Give her space. We nearly lost you again last night. I'm sure we all need time to process."

Dick blinked. "Well, when you put it that way..." Another draft blowing across his backside sent a shiver down his whole body. "I don't suppose you still have some of my clothes stashed somewhere?"

#

Dick shrugged into a soft old t-shirt and jeans, inspecting the room as he did. Everything was just as he'd left it... and not, all at the same time. Even though everything in it was his... he no longer belonged here.

"We can box everything up for you, if you want."

Bruce stood in the doorway, filling out the lines of his favorite tuxedo. His expression carefully neutral.

"Maybe, once I settle somewhere," Dick said. He surveyed the room and was suddenly dismayed at the thought of it being empty.

"It's not like we're hurting for space... if you want to keep it here, that's fine too."

Dick nodded absently.

"Could be useful the next time you nearly kill yourself."

Dick's head whipped up, a scowl already twisting his features, to see Bruce... smirking?

"Was that a joke?" He spluttered. Bruce shrugged, but his eyes twinkled.

"What is going on around here?" Dick asked, sinking to the bed. "Babs, for the first time in her life, won't yell at me; you're making jokes..." He shook his head in wonder.

Bruce took a few steps into the room, pretending to inspect the school paraphanlia on Dick's desk. "Things changed, after you left. We all changed." He leaned casually on the desk, but his eyes had grown serious in that particular way. Dick had seen it so many times it was unmistakable; Bruce was gone and Batman was in his room.

"Oh, I see. " He said acidly. "Make a bad joke, offer me my room back... what's next? Be your partner again?" He got up and straightened the bedcovers. "I didn't come back for that."

"... What did you come back for?"

Dick hid his reaction by plumping one last pillow and grabbing his old letter jacket from the armchair. He wouldn't let Batman see that he didn't have an answer for that question.

"Look," he said, standing at the doorway, "Things are what they are. You, Babs... and Tim. If it's working, I'm glad. But I don't want to be part of it. Call me if there's an emergency, but I work alone now."

Bruce nodded and pushed himself off the desk and followed Dick out of the room. As they descended the stairs he ventured, "You know, no matter what happens... you'll always have a home here. That hasn't changed."

Dick rolled his eyes, but stopped himself at the gentle touch on his shoulder. When did he get so touchy-feely? He looked up into Bruce's eyes. There was that look again... regret, or something like it. It still caught him off balance... softened his resolve to forever be angry with Batman.

"... yeah. I know." Bruce's hand slipped off his shoulder as they reached the mezzanine. Alfred and Tim waited by the was fidgeting in his tux.

"Do I have to go to this thing?" Tim whined, "there's never anything for me to do." Alfred quelled him with a look at Dick knew as well as his own name. Dick hid a grin behind a cough - he knew exactly how the kid felt.

"Do try to take care of yourself, Master Dick."

Dick smiled at Alfred. "I'll do my best."

And with that, Dick was alone in Wayne Manor. He looked around properly; just like his room, everything was exactly the same. The manor was comfortable but always missed that spark of life - Alfred usually provided it, but being here alone just now... Dick remembered the loneliness he'd felt as a child. It was no wonder Robin had taken over his life - despite the love and care from Alfred... and Bruce... they weren't a complete family. Holidays and birthdays had been nice, but something was always missing. It wasn't until Batgirl had forced her way into their little Boys Club that he'd felt something close to normal. And then he'd started dating Barbara, and it seemed like he might actually have a chance at a happy future.

But Batman's mission left no room for anything else. He wondered if Bruce even realized that. Wondered if Barbara had figured out that she, too, would one day have to make a choice.

He'd done the right thing in leaving, he'd told himself. He accessed the grandfather clock and headed down to the cave. He needed to live his life on his terms... and Dick would never be content with just crime fighting. He needed a life... and maybe a family, a real one, too.

#

Barbara lifted one foot and flexed it in her shoe. Knew I shouldn't have worn these, she chided herself as the burning sensation in the ball of her left foot lessened, while the twin pain the right flared. She kept a pair of disposable flats in her bag just in case, maybe she could just sneak off to -

"Barbie!"

Barbara gritted her teeth. Chad Carmichael never failed to find her at every high society Gotham function she attended. He wasn't stalking her - a quick hack had confirmed that - he just never had anything better to do than show up to these things.

Barbara put on her best society smile as he kissed her fingertips and sighed inwardly. She didn't even want to be here, but the Commissioner's Daughter got a lot of invitations and she couldn't skip them all.

Besides, she reasoned, this was the only place in the world where she wouldn't risk seeing Dick. Ugh, how aptly he was named.

Chad was going on about something as he led her to the dance floor. Barbara nodded and smiled. Chad didn't require conversation, just an audience. As he spun her around the room, Barbara took note of the usual faces. Society philanthropists, notable artists, new money... and old money. Bruce Wayne was talking to his old friend Veronica Vreeland, while Tim Drake hung out near the door to the kitchens.

Barbara felt a pang - how often had she been at just such a function, waiting for Dick to rescue her from the Chad or Brad or Hunter of the day.

Damn. There she went, thinking about him. Again. Get over it, Barb! But the way he looked her... when he'd grabbed her arm and begged with his eyes for... what, exactly? Forgiveness?

Well he could forget about that - he hadn't earned her forgiveness.

Barbara's grumblings ceased when she whirled - didn't Chad know how to do anything other than spin a girl? - past a familiar rain-slickered back.

She abruptly pulled out of Chad's arms, laughing as she steadied herself. "I'm getting so dizzy!" Under the cover of the flirt, she confirmed it - there was a man at the coat check, shrugging out of a familiar rain slicker. Gotham money didn't wear rain slickers, not a function like this.

"Excuse me, Chad. A girl can only take so many hours in six-inch heels."

She ducked under Chad's arm and quickly crossed the dance floor to the coat check. The man was handing his coat over the desk. Barbara got there just in time to catch a side glimpse of his face. It was March - she recognized it from the photo in his DMV records. Sandy hair, ruddy face, and a surprisingly weak chin. Not the kind of face that said "dangerous criminal." What was he doing here? Drug dealers didn't rub elbows with society's elite.

Barbara nimbly maneuvered around the desk - flashing a dazzling smile at the bewildered clerk.

"I just need to change my shoes - I'll be out of here in a sec." Sealing his complicity with a sly wink, she felt through the coats. With her right hand she slipped off her heels while the right searched the rain slicker's pockets - nothing. Not even a wallet.

Leaving her heels under her own coat and fishing the folded up flats from the pocket, she swung her hips nimbly up onto the desk. The clerk was blushing. As she slipped on the flats she surveyed the room. March was at the bar. From the way his eyes kept skipping around, he was looking for someone.

Skirt in hand and feet feeling much relieved, Barbara sauntered towards Bruce. He was now chatting with the mayor, his back to the room. As Barbara passed, she lightly kicked his calf. Then continued right on to the buffet table, where a glum Tim was watching the clock.

"Hey Barb."

"Look alive, kiddo." Barbara said as she helped herself to a cup of punch. "Your two o'clock. Sandy hair, about 5'10".

Tim's posture didn't change but his head swiveled. "Who's he looking for?"

"What is it?" Bruce had joined them. He reached out to Barbara for a quick side-hug, as though greeting her.

"Dark blonde man, by the bar. He's the one who electrocuted Dick."

She felt rather than saw Bruce stiffen. He turned and spotted the man. "Who is he?"

Barbara hesitated for a moment. What were the rules here? He was Dick's guy... but he was here, with them, and Dick wasn't.

"George March by birth, but has a number of aliases. He seems to go by just March now. Low-level drug dealing out of Bludhaven."

"Any idea who he's looking for?"

"No idea."

Bruce nodded imperceptibly. "Tail him if he leaves... and let Dick know."

"We're not gonna move on him?" Tim asked. But Bruce was already moving off, asking some woman to dance.

"Great," Tim mumbled. "Now we'll be here forever."

Barbara gave him a rueful grin, and noticed a shadow cross his face. She looked up just in time to see four men crash through the glass roof of the penthouse.

She didn't have time to yell. She pulled Tim under her and fell to the floor, protecting him with her body as shards of glass rained down on them. A few nicked her back and arms. Four pairs of booted feet hit the ground, and the rat-tat-tat of gunfire threw the confused room into panic.

Tim wiggled out from under her and crawled under the buffet table. Barbara followed.

Tim peered from under the table cloth. "Where's Bruce?"

Gotham's elite were being herded into the center of the room.

"Better question," Barbara replied, trying to ignore the blood dripping down her arms, "where's March?"

They both looked out, simultaneously assessing the intruders, the number of civilians, and the distance to the nearest exit. Neither saw Bruce or March. And evidently, neither did the intruders.

"He's not here!" said the Short one.

"He's gotta be, be blocked all the exits." Said another - the left-handed one by the way he held his gun.

"Here!" The biggest one gestured behind a pillar. Out walked March... and behind him, Bruce. Barbara and Tim looked intently at him, waiting for a signal. He gave a tiny shake of his head; too many people, too many witnesses.

Barbara swallowed hard. They were useless.

The fourth intruder - the leader, evidently - kicked March to his knees. Bruce stood next to him, silent and with his hand in the air. Looking for all the world like a willing hostage.

"You're March?" Leader asked.

March said nothing. While Shorty and Biggie kept a guns on them, Leader searched March's pockets - they were empty.

"You sure it's him?" Lefty asked.

Leader shrugged and took aim at March's head. "Probably."

Bruce's eyes met Barbara's and her instincts kicked in again. "No," she whispered to herself.

The doors to the penthouse exploded and SWAT poured in through the smoke. Leader's attention shifted just enough for Bruce to throw himself in front of March. Leader fired a split second before a bullet went clean through his own head. He dropped to the floor, where his blood quickly flowed to meet Bruce Wayne's.


	4. Chapter 4

Dick rushed through the emergency room doors, rounded the small labyrinth of waiting room chairs and landed right at the glass-enclosed reception window.

"Where's Bruce Wayne?"

The receptionist leaned a heavy cheek on one fist while the other lazily - slowly - poked keys.

"He's not here."

"Yes he is," Dick insisted, "I got the call that he was being taken to Gotham General. Is he in surgery?"

"Not seeing him. How do you spell Wayne?"

Rage fogged Dick's brain. He knew from the feeling in his throat that he was shouting. And he could see some life in the receptionist at last, as her eyes went wide with shock. He also registered security guards - three of them - loosely encircle him. Before his instincts took over, he felt a gentle tugging on his sleeve.

" - hear me? Dick!"

Dick turned and saw Tim, grasping his sleeve like a little boy. His eyes were huge. Slowly, the rage began to seep back under Dick's skin. Tim's mouth was moving; he was saying something.

"Sorry, what?"

Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Visibly calmer, he started again.

"He's in surgery. That's all we know. They're prepping a private room, with security, on the top floor. Alfred's already there."

Tim, still clinging to Dick's sleeve, steered him to a single elevator. Only when they were inside did Tim drop his grip. His shoulders slumped and he looked helplessly at Dick.

"We couldn't do anything. There were too many people, and he put himself right next to March-"

"Wait, March? Why was March there?"

Tim just shook his head slowly. Dick's brain was whirling, but the expression on Tim's face kept him present. He'd seen that look countless times… on Bruce.

"Hey, don't do that," Dick said. "It wasn't your fault."

Tim was staring off into space, his mouth pulled into a frown. "I should've done something."

"You did exactly what you were supposed to do."

When Tim still wouldn't look at him, he put a hand on the boy's arm. Tim shrugged it off, but Dick just grasped him by the shoulders and bent down to look him in the eye. Tim turned his head askance.

"You did what you were trained to do," Dick said earnestly. "I've been in your position. You not drawing attention is probably why he didn't die in that penthouse."

Startled, Tim's eyes met Dick's. He gulped hard and the downturned corners of his mouth trembled. He was fighting not to cry. Dick released him and stood back, pretending he hadn't seen it.

When he spoke, Tim's voice was very small.

"What happens if he doesn't make it?"

Dick tried to come up with something good. Something positive, encouraging… but the words wouldn't come.

"I don't know."

The elevator doors opened directly onto a private suite. The first room held a sofa and two armchairs and was lit by table lamps. Directly beyond it was a private hospital room, with the latest in medical technology. A large double-walled window of bulletproof glass looked out over the city skyline.

Alfred arranged a duvet on the bed, fussing with it to hide the trembling of his hands.

Dick pushed Tim into one of the armchairs and went to the old man. Was it Dick's imagination, or was Alfred shorter now than he'd remembered? His skin was slack and the grooves around his mouth seemed deeper. When he looked up, his eyes seemed sunken into his skull.

"Alfred?" Dick asked gently.

"No word yet," Alfred replied, his voice hushed.

"Can I help?"

A corner of Alfred's mouth lifted. "I imagine you already have plans for the evening to do exactly that."

"No, I mean,… I meant, can I help you. Here. Right now."

Alfred sighed. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. We just have to hope." He sank onto the side of the bed and put his hands on his knees. Dick surveyed him critically. How many close calls had the man endured over the years?

"You're getting too old for this, Alfred."

"Indeed."

The elevator door opened and admitted three more into the room: Detective Harvey Bullock and two uniformed officers.

"There's something you can help with." Alfred murmured under his breath.

Dick sighed. Bullock was nobody's favorite person to deal with. Dick strode forward, hand outstretched.

"Detective Bullock."

Bullock's hands stayed in his coat pockets. His piggy eyes looked Dick up and down.

"Grayson. So you weren't at the shindig tonight?"

"No."

"Word is you went away for a while. A long while. You and Mr. Wayne have a falling out?"

Dick worked hard to control his voice. "I wouldn't exactly call it that. I needed to find out who I was."

"Did you?"

"I suppose."

"Great. Why don't you tell me all about who Dick Grayson is these days, starting with where you were tonight."

#

After an hour of Detective Bullock's aggressive questioning, Dick felt his patience wearing thin. But he stuck to the plan that he knew by heart since he was eight years old: don't lie to the police, but don't give them any answers, either. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

It was nearly 2am. There was still no news about Bruce.

The toothpick in Bullock's mouth was nearly gone, chewed away through the questioning. The detective flicked it into the trash.

"It just seems… interesting, Grayson. You're gone for a year to," he put his hands up in finger quotes, "find yourself, and then just a few days after you get back, Mr. Wayne cops it at a private charity event, that you were invited to but didn't attend. Seems a little too convenient, if you ask me."

Dick crossed his arms over his chest. "For the third time, _Detective_ : I have no complaints about Mr. Wayne's guardianship. He did right by me for over twelve years. He saw to it that the insurance settlement from my parents' murder was well-invested, making me independently wealthy now in my own right. I have no motive to cause him harm."

"Hmph," was the response. "And are you back in Gotham for good now? I thought you carnies didn't like to settle down."

Dick bristled, but his voice was even. "I'll stay as long as I want."

As he turned to leave, he seemed to notice Tim for the first time. "Guess there's just one thing left to handle."

Dick didn't like the tone to his voice. "And what's that?"

"Mr. Wayne's the kid's guardian. But Mr. Wayne might never come out of surgery." He paused delicately. "I'll make sure social services puts you somewhere nice, kid."

Tim's panicked eyes flew to Alfred, who was already protesting.

"Detective, wouldn't it be best—"

"I don't think so, Jeeves. You look like you're one missed step away from your own casket."

"You can't take him," Dick growled.

Bullock glanced at him over his shoulder. "Can't really see how you'll stop me, kid."

"I'll do it."

The room went silent. Bullock turned around slowly, and when he did, Bullock was grinning. Only then did Dick realize the trap that had been set up neatly around him, and how eagerly he'd walked into it.

"That would be a neat fix," Bullock agreed, "but you know it's Judge Nichols who handles Drake's case, and he's pretty strict about how he likes guardians to behave. Even temporary ones."

Tim's head ping-ponged back and forth between Dick and the Detective, trying to understand what was happening.

Dick released his breath slowly. "I know. I'll do whatever the judge wants."

"I'll get him up. Don't go nowhere." Bullock said, closing the door behind him.

"Master Dick,"

"It's all right Alfred. Bruce will come through and it'll all be moot."

Dick sagged against the wall. When no one responded he peaked through his lashes to find Alfred looking at him proudly, while Tim scowled at a corner with his arms folded.

"Something you wanna say, Tim?"

Tim lurched out of the chair and jammed the button to the elevator. If it'd had a door, he would have kicked it. He continued to scowl as he entered the elevator and the doors closed.

Dick turned astonished eyes on Alfred. "What's his problem?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten the joys of being ward to a stranger," Alfred said wryly.

"Oh. Right." Dick said.

 _Crap._

#

Some hours later, after a trip to City Hall for an emergency hearing with a stern-if-sleepy Judge Nichols, Dick signed the paperwork granting him temporary guardianship of Tim Drake.

The room was quiet save for the scratching of the pen, but inside his head, Dick was screaming.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to get sucked back into this world. He was supposed to be on his own, figuring out where he wanted to go next. Not entangling himself with Bruce in a new and complicated way.

Nichols wasn't thrilled with the prospect either. Grayson's conspicuous absence and lack of relationship to the boy did not inspire him with confidence. As a result, his terms for Dick's guardianship were severe.

And yet… despite the utter derailment of his plans, Dick couldn't let Tim be put back in the system. For all that he thought Bruce was a terrible guardian and role model… he'd given the boy a home. And a purpose. And after all… Dick had lived with him, and hadn't turned out too bad, right?

 _I need therapy._

So in the judge's study at 4am, Dick signed away his freedom. He was now mandated to spend a minimum of one year in Gotham, unable to travel without prior court approval, and requiring monthly meetings with Tim's social worker. He was also required to live with his ward, in the home that Tim was accustomed to until Bruce Wayne fully recovered or Dick's guardianship be made permanent.

After all his fuss and promises to himself… Dick would have to move back to Wayne Manor.

 _Temporary… it's temporary… It might be all for nothing, anyway. Bruce could be awake right now._

He ignored the fact that his phone hadn't so much as buzzed in hours.

The ride back to the hospital was quiet - the one hour in Gotham when criminals and citizens alike slept in their warm beds. The freezing wind streaming over his body kept Dick awake and gave him something to focus on. He forced himself not to think about what would happen if Bruce never woke up.

Back at the hospital, it was all he could do to make it up to Bruce's private room. Tim and Alfred were sound asleep in the armchairs.

Snagging a pillow from the still-empty bed, Dick stretched out on the cold linoleum floor and was asleep instantly.

#

All three awoke to the sound of elevator doors opening and a surgical bed being wheeled in. Dick scrambled out of the way before his eyes had fully focused. Alfred's steady hand on Tim's shoulder kept the boy in place.

The man on the bed looked nothing like the one they knew. Bruce's presence was overpowering. The man in this bed had no presence. He looked weak, frail. There were the first silver threads showing at his temples. He breathed shallowly with the help with a ventilator and was heavily bandaged from collarbone to waist.

After the medical team transferred him to the suite's bed and ensured all the monitoring equipment was ideally placed, the private security guards stepped in and positioned themselves: one in front of the window, the other by the elevator.

The nurses and orderlies retreated until one woman remained.

"You're Mr. Wayne's family?"

The three turned to her. "We are," Alfred said.

The doctor's eyes - red-rimmed from exhaustion but still sharp - quickly settled on Dick. Her eyes caught and held his, though she addressed the room.

"He was lucky. If not for his incredible physical condition - I want the name of his trainer, by the way - he probably wouldn't have made it to the hospital."

"Is he going to be ok?" Tim blurted.

The doctor shifted on her feet. "We can't say just yet. We did all we could, but the bullet ricocheted around his chest cavity. Broke a few ribs, nicked arteries, and organs… it was a lot. We sewed up everything we could find, but we'll have to go back in at some point. We're hoping if he gets a little stronger, and no infection sets in…"

Her voice trailed off as the three men who loved Bruce Wayne looked at him.

"He's tough," Dick said softly. "When will you know if he's recovering?"

"We'll monitor him very closely. I might be able to give you an update in 24 hours. In the meantime, talk to him. Encourage him. And don't worry about another attack. This is the most secure room in the hospital."

Dick thanked her and watched her trudge tiredly back to the elevator. No sooner had the doors closed than his phone buzzed in his pocket.

 _I'm on the roof._

Batgirl.

He glanced up. Tim was talking softly to Bruce, while Alfred arranged his covers. The two security guards were better than most - while appearing relaxed, they were alert.

"I've gotta make a call," Dick announced to the room. No one seemed to hear him, or notice when he left.

She was waiting on the rooftop as promised, silhouetted against the sunrise. She grasped his hand as he stepped out the maintenance door, surprising him. He looked into worried, over-bright eyes.

"How is he?"

Dick reached for her with his other hand, the same time that she did.

"Out of surgery. Lots of ricochet damage. They'll have to go back in."

"Shit," Batgirl whispered. I'm so sorry Dick, I should have done something when I saw March—"

Quickly she told him the story of what had happened. All the while, they held each other. Barbara didn't seem to notice. Despite everything vying for attention in his mind, Dick could only think of her. See her. Hear her. He calmed as he felt the warmth of her fingers through her gloves. Even at arm's length, holding her was comforting.

He came back to himself as she circled around to apologizing again.

"I've already had this conversation with Tim. Don't make me talk sense into you, too."

She swallowed the rest of her words and nodded. She finally noticed she was holding onto him. "Sorry," she mumbled as she tried to pull away.

"Don't," Dick blurted. He tightened his grip ever so slightly. Blue eyes searched brown, and so many unspoken things passed between them in the span of a second.

"Ok."

They stood a while longer, holding each other and gathering thoughts until Batgirl took a breath.

"I think I know who was after March."


	5. Chapter 5

The ride to Barbara's apartment reminded Dick of being 15 again. The dry-mouth, the fast pulse, the sweaty palms.

He'd left the hospital with the promise of checking in soon, and returning to the manor per his new guardianship requirements. Tim was still scowling, but Alfred looked marginally relieved.

Bruce's status was unchanged. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the _whoosh…whoosh_ of the ventilator both comforted and unnerved.

He parked a few blocks away from Barbara's apartment and walked the rest of the way. The walk didn't quell the buzzing in his veins.

 _Maybe I should just tell her…_

"You just going to stand there?"

Dick blinked at the voice in his ear. He was at her door. How long had he been standing here like a doofus?

The door opened as he raised his fist to knock.

Barbara beckoned him inside with a quizzical expression. She was back in her civvies, hair pulled up into a ponytail. Her skin was pink and damp; she'd just come from the shower. Dick felt himself starting to blush. Seeing her like this… it felt so intimate. Had he ever seen her this… well… undone, before?

"Lot on my mind."

He followed her through the apartment to her bedroom. If you could call it a bedroom. The bed was an afterthought in this den of monitors, processors, cables and power-strips. Barbara picked her way through it with the ease of a cat, seating herself at a specialized chair in the center of the maze. The room was _humming_ with electricity.

"Whoa."

She flashed him a smile, and Dick's heart leaped. He crossed his arms over his chest, knowing full-well it wouldn't help.

The light from the waking monitor bathed Barbara's face in light. She leaned in, fingers splayed across the nearest keyboard.

"What is this?"

"My… hobby."

He laughed. "Don't tell me you weren't getting enough thrills from the other one."

There it was, again; that smile.

"Thrills, yes. Answers, no."

Dick started to pick his way through the mess, careful not to bump or dislodge anything. He stopped just behind the chair, leaning down over Barbara's shoulder.

Whatever was happening on the screen, he didn't understand it. But it looked impressive; lines of code shuttling up different windows, camera feeds, branching drive networks.

This close, he could smell the tropical scent of her shampoo. He resisted the urge to bury his nose in her hair.

 _Focus up, Grayson._

"Why not just use the cave?" he asked.

Her fingers faltered the tiniest bit.

"You don't want Him to know."

The fingers flew faster… and made a few mistakes. She cursed softly as she hit the back key a few times.

"You're hacking." Dick blurted, realizing it as he said it.

"Is that a problem?" Her voice was low, careful.

"No…"

Her shoulders tightened just a fraction. She didn't take her eyes off the monitors as she said,

"It's necessary."

"No argument from me. I'm just surprised, is all. Didn't think you had it in you to defy The Batman."

She glanced a small frown at him, which wiped the smirk off Dick's face.

"What? You know how he feels about it. That's why you're doing it here and not there. He will find out, you know. And you'll catch hell when he does."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Dick rolled his eyes.

"You'll see."

"Fine."

It may have been fatigue or confusion of feelings for her. Or the curtness of her tone. And possibly the fact that his former mentor was fighting for his life in a place that Dick couldn't help. In any case, something that felt hot and red curled around his heart.

"Don't come crying to me when it happens."

"I won't."

"Don't get mad—"

"I'm not."

"I'm just saying, I lived with the guy for—"

"Jesus, Dick!" She whirled, eyes blazing and chin trembling. Was she about to cry, or—? "I'm so tired of this conversation! It's ironic - you're the one who went away and it seems you're the only one who hasn't changed one bit. When he wakes up—"

She faltered. Then pushed forward, "when he wakes up, you better have squared away that old mess with yourself or I'll knock you into next week."

Dick blinked. Whatever he'd been about to say died on his tongue. He looked away, feeling heat rise up his throat and onto his cheeks. What was it about them? Why was it always one step forward, two steps back? On hour ago she'd held his hand. He cleared his throat to make sure it wouldn't squeak.

"I…"

"Look, we're tired… Can we please just get focus?" She massaged the hollows under eyes.

He took a breath to clear his head and nodded. She pointed to the screen closest to him.

"This is from the Bludhaven Gazette. April three years ago.

Dick took a closer look over her shoulder. The cursor hovered over the webpage before jumping to another.

"And another. At least fifteen, maybe more, spread over twenty years. All of them are about Bludhaven's crime wars. Small gangs offing each other. Messy, lots of casualties."

"But you think there's a pattern?"

"Yes… in that, there isn't a pattern."

She turned in her chair, looking just past him. Dick was grateful.

"There's no correlation between the gangs. If it was about turf or shared product it would make sense. But why would arms smugglers off meth-makers? Why would protection rackets take out a prostitution ring?"

Dick sat back.

"They wouldn't… unless there's someone else slowly grabbing power behind the scenes."

Barbara nodded. "Someone smart, and very patient. I think this power grab goes back almost 20 years."

She opened up a new window.

"When I was looking into March, I saw that he'd been involved with a small gang about 15 years ago. Ringleader was this woman.

A mugshot appeared. The classically pretty face was frozen by two unfeeling, uncaring eyes that stared out from deep hollows.

"Dorothy Peters. Better known on the street as The Lady."

Barbara entered a shortcut and a series of photos cascaded across the main monitor.

"Of all the small gangs that operated twenty years ago, only hers is still operational. They've gone from petty crime to large ring of franchises - most look like fronts, though I'm not sure what for. Some look actually legit. And she's done quite well for herself—"

The final photo was a video; an election afterparty. From the balloons and confetti, a successful election.

Two figures at a dais shook hands.

"The one on the right is her. The other is Bludhaven's mayor."

"So she's got friends."

"She does. She was the main backer of his campaign."

Dick chewed his thumbnail.

"March was trying to export into her territory. So she sent a team to ax him?"

"I think so. If we're right, she wasn't afraid to do it publicly. Very publicly."

"Maybe sending a message. Think she's trying to expand to Gotham?"

"Don't know. But it wouldn't surprise me."

Dick scratched his chin. The five o'clock shadow had grown into full stubble.

"Well. Guess that's what I get for wanting to get back in the game."

Barbara studied her nails.

"What are you going to do?"

He shrugged.

"Take her down."

"How?"

"I don't know yet. I'll have to do some recon, maybe head to the 'haven and scout out a few things."

"And what about Tim?"

Crap. He'd forgotten all about that. Which, judging by the look on her face, she'd guessed.

"I have an idea. On how to get her. Actually just the beginning of one but… that is, if you're ok with doing things a bit… differently?" Her voice was tired but at least it wasn't cold.

"Like I said, I'm not Batman."

Their eyes finally met. Hers were shadowed, her face carefully neutral.

"I was out of line."

Dick sighed. He was having a hard time looking at her; something that felt an awful lot like shame kept drawing his gaze to the floor.

"No more than me. Truce?"

She nodded.

"So what's the plan?"

"I need a little time." A yawn split her face. They could both see the light getting stronger from around the edges of her blackout curtains.

Dick stood and stretched. "Check in when you have something."

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the front door.

"You gonna be ok? In the manor, I mean."

The corner of his mouth turned up a bit.

"You mean with Tim? Don't worry, I won't hurt him."

As he pulled the door closed he swore he could faintly hear, "it's not him I'm worried about."

#

The rising sun had warmed Dick's back nicely by the time he pulled into Wayne Manor's circular drive, which added to his drowsiness. He barely had the energy to stagger up the front steps.

The double doors were locked.

Maybe it was the events of the night… and the previous night, plus the knowledge that he had another long few nights ahead of him, but Dick allowed a small whimper to escape his chest and push past his lips. His knees buckled and he sagged against the weathered oak. Maybe he could take a nap on the lawn—

He almost fell in when the door opened under him.

"Whoa!" Tim neatly dodged the body that threatened to crush him. Dick went sprawling into the foyer, landing blows on elbows and knees as he went.

"…Ow."

Tim lifted a very Alfred-like eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be the world's greatest acrobat or something?"

"Remember how I was electrocuted yesterday? Cut me some slack."

"I guess. C'mon. I need a ride."

The floor was starting to feel comfortable.

"A ride?"

"School. You know the rules."

A sneaker-clad foot nudged Dick's behind. Dick groaned.

"Come on, _guardian_. I've got a test first period. Bruce'll—"

Dick pretended not to hear the thickness choking the boy's voice. Yes, he knew the rule. Academic achievement was important in the Wayne household. Some kids got their phones or TVs taken away when they didn't perform. In Robin's case, he'd get grounded. Literally.

 _If Bruce ever comes home, that is._

But he wasn't about to say that to the boy. Tim was barely holding it together. Routine was the best thing, and they both knew it.

Slowly, feeling a million years old, Dick got to his feet and trudged back out to the bike. He used to pull all-nighters and be up for school without so much as a mug of coffee.

 _I'm getting old._

He settled himself on the still-warm seat and passed Tim the helmet.

"You know the way?"

" 'Course I know the way. Gotham Academy right?"

"Right."

"Is old man Winters still out front waiting with tardy slips?"

Tim grabbed fistfuls of Dick's jacket as the bike eased back down to the road.

"Look, Dick? I don't need a bonding song-and-dance. Just get me to school."

Dick sighed lustily and said in his best stuffy English accent,

"Yes, Master Tim."

A quick glance at the rearview showed Tim scowling.

"I'm telling Alfred about that."

"Don't you dare."

Dick gunned the engine and the bike leaped forward, causing Tim to hold on tight or get bounced off.

"Show-off" the boy grumbled.

#

 _Bludhaven_ _PD… rotten from the top down… ugh with that much money I could buy Dad the retirement he deserves… have to get her out in the open. What would entice her… what does she want?_

 _"_ Honey?"

Barbara jumped in her chair as a gentle hand shook her shoulder. She wrenched around, feeling a sharp twinge in the nerves that ran up her spine as she looked up into her father's face. She winced and massaged her neck.

Jim Gordon was looking her over concernedly.

"Sorry, what?"

"It's lunchtime. Wanna head over to Norma's?"

"Oh. Sure."

She grabbed her purse out of the desk drawer and logged out of her computer as Jim waited. She'd been crunched over that cramped little computer for too long - she could feel vertebrae cracking back into place as she stood.

"You feeling ok? You look a little pale."

As they made their way through the halls of the GCPD, officers nodded their respect to the commissioner and glanced curiously at his daughter. It always annoyed Barbara - officers and uniformed policemen alike were far less observant than they should be. She'd been an analyst for the GCPD for the last three years, and had spent a good part of her life coming to headquarters to visit her father.

 _Maybe I should ask to move out of the basement._

"Barb?"

 _Dang it._

 _"_ Sorry. I was deep in a project. But I'm all yours," she grinned at him, "I swear."

Jim opened the door for and shook his head ruefully.

"I'd lecture you about being married to your job, but you'd say 'look who's talking'."

"No I wouldn't."

"No, you're too sweet. But you'd think it. So what's so important?"

"That guy who shot up the benefit the other night. March. Has he talked yet?"

"Not yet. Might be a while, too. Scared as a rabbit, that one."

They crossed the street to the little diner, a perennial favorite of the local boys and girls in blue.

"I tracked him to Bludhaven. He was in a gang there years ago. Might be a connection."

"Well if it is, you know that's beyond our jurisdiction."

 _But not Batgirl's._

They nodded to Norma, the ancient diner owner and head waitress as they took a seat in their favorite booth.

"So what else is new? You seeing anybody special?"

Barbara hid her reaction behind a sip of her water. When she knew her voice wouldn't waver,

"Don't tell me your "grandfather clock" is starting to tick."

"Well…"

Barbara choked. And look up to see Jim's mustache twitching suspiciously.

"Ok, well-played."

"Thank you. I just want to see you have a life outside of work. You're too young to be bogged down. And you'd make a killing in the private sector."

"Are you firing me, Commissioner? Because I love my job."

She reached out and squeezed his hand.

"I do have a life, I promise. And as soon as there's something to tell, you'll be the first to know."

"So you're not seeing anyone."

"Not lately, no."

Norma came to take their order, and only when she left did Barbara notice Jim was being particularly quiet.

"What?"

"I didn't say anything."

"But you want to. Out with it."

He fiddled with the straw-wrapper between them.

"…You know Dick's back in town?"

Under the booth, Barbara's ankle banged into the steel leg of the table. She bit back a curse.

"Yeah, I know."

"… He called?"

She drew circles on the tabletop with her finger. What could she possibly say?

"Not since he left."

She waited, counting the seconds.

 _Four… five… six…_

"I still don't understand," Jim blurted at last. "It's just so not like him. If he and Bruce Wayne had a falling out I'd understand but you two… you seemed so solid."

"I don't either, Dad. And anyway, even if he did call… I don't think I'm ready to forgive him."

"Well of course not! Not without some first-class groveling and a ring in hand."

Barbara laughed outright.

"I'm starting to think you liked him more than I did."

"Well if you're not pining for him…"

"I'm not. And I do have a life. But I love my job, too. Guess it's in my blood."

He smiled at that, relaxing.

"But you're a little bit right," she continued sheepishly, "I do need… something. I'm just not sure what it is. But I'm figuring it out."

Jim reached out and squeezed her hand, the way he'd always done to show his love. Barbara squeezed back.

"You'll get there, honey."

Norma arrived with their plates.

Jim, contented that his daughter wasn't nursing a broken heart, busied himself with eating as much as he could in the last 20 minutes of his lunch hour. But Barbara was busy examining said heartbreak. There was no denying it. Despite all her efforts…there was still some feeling there… a feeling that ran deeper than she'd realized.

 _Well… crap._

#

Dick woke to the last rays of a blood-red sun sinking under the horizon. The light cut a laser swatch through the drapes of his old room, casting deep shadows across it and turning the space into a hellscape of fire and shadow.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. The old alarm clock on the nightstand showed he'd been asleep almost eleven hours. Despite it, his head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton.

He swung his legs out of bed and levered himself out, ignoring the trippy sensation of near-blackout as he reached for the door.

Muscle-memory guided him down the hall of the wing and to the grand staircase, where his nose finally detected steam and meat and cheese. He sniffed gratefully as he headed into the dining room.

Alfred was arranging silverware next to a fully loaded plate. He didn't even look up.

"Right on time, Master Dick."

Dick sank into the chair and picked up a fork as Alfred filled a glass of water. Looking at the mound of fluffy potatoes, beef roast and corn casserole, Dick was hit with a sudden pang of nostalgia. It was his favorite. The thing Alfred made whenever he'd had a particularly bad day, or even a particularly good one.

"Alfred," he said, "I honestly don't know how I ever lived without you."

The old butler's cheeks colored as he demurred, "Neither do I." He turned to return to the kitchen when,

"Hey, Alfred, why don't you have a seat?"

Dick gestured to the chair next to him. "Catch me up. Any word from the hospital?"

Alfred eased himself into the chair and steepled his long fingers. "I checked in a few hours ago. He's steady. No sign of infection, but they're not so confident as to take him back into surgery, or move him out of critical care."

Dick nodded. "That's good, right? Steady is good."

"Better than the alternative."

Alfred paused, then delicately continued, "Will you be following up on the March case tonight?"

"Barb is working on it. She said she'd check in when she had something."

"Ah."

Dick looked up to see Alfred carefully pleating a napkin in his lap.

"What's up?"

Only then did Dick remember he hadn't seen Tim in a while.

#

"Absolutely not."

"Crime doesn't stop just because Bruce is laid up."

"You're too young to go out alone."

"I've been doing it for over a year."

"That was when Bruce… look, I don't know you well enough. I don't know your route. Your strengths or weaknesses. If something happens—"

"Then come with me, if you're so scared. 'Cause I'm going, with or without you."

Dick scowled at Robin. He should have known it would go down like this. The kid had come home from school and went straight to the cave, where he'd been training. Now he was limber and loosened up, ready to go on nightly patrol. Anything to avoid thinking about Bruce.

"Listen Tim, whether you like it or not, I'm in charge now, and that means I make the—"

He stopped himself just in time.

 _Christ, it's true; you DO turn out just like your parent/guardian/Bat-father figure._

Behind him, he could just hear the faintly muffled sound of what sounded like a chuckle. Alfred was loving this, no doubt.

Tim, meanwhile, had the proverbial bit between his teeth and would not be moved.

"Someone's gotta go out. You're a mess; you said so yourself. And Barb's busy. I'm the only one who's fresh."

"I can't let you go alone."

"So come with me!"

"I…"

There wasn't much to counter that. It made sense. How could he explain the dread, the stomach-dropping feeling it was giving him to consider going out and being the leader, for once?

"It makes sense."

All three men in the cave jumped as Barbara's voice boomed around them. Bats screeched and scrambled around the stalactites.

"Sorry, too loud?" Her voice was quieter now but still filled the cavern, and her face stretched twenty by ten feet on the monitor.

Tim grinned.

"Awesome."

Barbara winked at him.

Dick sighed.

"What makes sense?"

"You do need to patrol and Robin does need a partner. You were trained by the same man; you know all the same signals and codes. Shouldn't be too hard."

Tim glanced at Dick, his face open. Eyes almost pleading.

"That's not going to work on me." Dick informed him. Tim mimed something rude.

"See?" Barbara chirped, "you're already getting the non-verbal communication down."

Dick looked at Barbara's enormous face.

"Since when do you wear glasses?"

He could swear she blushed.

"Blue-light filtering. No prescription."

"They look nice."

Tim glanced between them with interest before trading a loaded look with Alfred.

Dick and Barbara were aware.

"Thanks," she said quickly.

Dick hid his discomfort by stretching his torso and taking mental stock of himself. Still a bit stiff, but he should be all right for a light patrol.

"I'll have to stop by my place to suit up. Meet up at the —"

"Actually Dick," Barbara said delicately, "it would make much more sense if you suited up in the cave."

"But I don't—"

Something in her eyes gave him pause. As the pieces fell into place all he could say was,

"Oh no."


	6. Chapter 6

Batman's mood was as dark as his cowl.

It was a moonless night, and _cold_. Seasonal winds had changed, bringing with them an arctic front the likes of which Gotham hadn't seen in over a decade. As he swung from rooftop to rooftop across mid-town, his breath was thrown back in his face, where it promptly froze. His lips were cracked. The skin on his lower face, raw from the wet and cold and wind, burned. His body, unused to swinging since installing his Nightwing gliders, was sweating from the effort. Despite the moisture-wicking fabric of the suit, there was still enough perspiration to freeze in the strong wind. He was shivering uncontrollably.

 _All because of the damn suit,_ he thought as he completed the arc and landed on top of the First National Bank of Gotham. Robin was already there, scoping the alleys with his binoculars.

Batman took his time reholstering his grapple. Despite knowing where everything was kept, he was still getting used to the feel of it all. The damn cape kept falling over his shoulder and obscuring his view.

"You okay there?"

Robin smirked. Batman returned with his best scowl. Robin only smirked harder.

"You're right. You're no Batman."

"For which I thank God every day," Batman muttered.

Gripping the cape - the end was dragging on the ground - he came up next to Robin, trying not to visibly shiver. The damn suit, even after Alfred's slap-dash alteration job, was just too big. And the cowl was uncomfortable.

"No wonder he was always so grouchy," Batman said. "This is such a pain."

"Quit whining." Robin returned, offering the binoculars. "Look down there. Southside of Van Haal and Olive."

Batman held them up to his eyes.

A lone figure, parka pulled up high on his neck against the wind, was waiting a bit too casually just outside the circle of light from the streetlamp.

"I don't see any action," Batman said.

"C'mon, you know he's a dealer." Robin scoffed. "Let's bust him before his next customer comes."

"How old are you again?"

"Fourteen."

"I can't believe you're still this green."

Robin stiffened in anger.

 _Good,_ Batman thought. _Kid was getting too cocky anyway._

"We don't harass people who are just standing on street corners."

"He's a DEALER."

"We don't know that. He could just be—"

Robin was gone, plummeting to the street below. Halfway down he fired his grapple and swung for the dealer.

Fighting his cape, Dick fumbled for his grapple, cursing the boy and himself for not having predicted this exact turn of events.

 _He_ had never been so mouthy, so rebellious. _He_ 'd done his job as Batman's partner and did what he was told. That's how it worked. _He_ didn't go brashly off on his own, breaking all the rules.

Batman swung for the roof above the corner, watching Robin land smack in front of the dealer.

The dealer was ready. He swung a practiced haymaker at Robin, who narrowly dodged it. Robin readied himself for another blow, but Dealer opened the door behind him and slipped inside. Robin lunged for the door - it was locked from within.

Not waiting for him, Batman turned and sped across the roof. Rappelling down the other side of the building, he found an open window on the third story and slipped inside.

The building was an apartment complex or motel; sparsely furnished, but inhabited. Apparently, no one was home right now. Batman crept through the dark to the door and opened it into a pitch-black hallway. He listened… and heard nothing.

With his night-vision lenses, he located the stairwell that ran up the center of the building. The damn cape was slowing him down. He abandoned it and leaped soundlessly onto the banister.

There, something on the first floor.

Batman dropped from banister to banister, quickly approaching the ground. The sound of footsteps, echoing through the concrete and steel of the building, was getting louder.

Listening carefully, Batman projected where they would be and leaped, leg outstretch to take the perp down.

He felt himself fly over something, then his outstretch leg hit the ground. Only a lifetime of tumbling saved his knee from shattering at the impact.

Batman tucked, rolled and sprang up at the ready, only to hear the same footsteps - from a body smaller than his, he now realized, quickly heading towards him.

"Whoa!"

Batman dodged Robin's tackle as he grabbed the youth's arm, swinging him around to keep him from crashing headfirst into the cinderblock wall.

Robin, recognizing him in the dark, stilled.

"Where'd he go?"

"You followed him here?"

"No, but I thought—"

Batman fished a flashlight out of his belt and shined it back the way Robin had come.

"This way."

Halfway down the hall was a hatch, visible only by the ring that was embedded flush with the floor.

Batman nodded to Robin to take position on the other side, then heaved the door open.

Descending into the darkness below was a single steel-rung ladder.

Clamping the flashlight in his teeth, Batman went down first.

Halfway, he stopped and scoped the area.

Robin stepped on the fingers of his left hand.

Batman stifled a grunt and glared up at the kid, who mouthed "Sorry!" at him.

From here they could see the outline of a door; thin slivers of bright light shone on all sides. There was no sound from the other side.

Robin took position on Batman's flank and nodded his readiness. Batman reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

They squinted as the light hit their eyes. Rows of industrial hydroponic lighting sent jagged black patches dancing across their vision. It was a few seconds before they could see what lay before them.

Hundreds of mature marijuana plants in tightly packed rows lined the room, which had to be the entire basement of the building.

This was not in the plan, Batman thought to himself. They were supposed to just make a quick sweep, let themselves be seen to just enough people, and return to the cave. Taking down an entire drug operation — _another_ drug operation —

"Told you he was a dealer," Robin muttered.

Batman frowned at Robin, then pointed two fingers down the left side. He then crossed his fingers, indicating they should corner the dealer on the other side of the room.

Robin shook his head and pointed to himself, then up above. Then at Batman, and at the ground. _I'll take them from above, you from below._

Batman drew himself up to his full height, put on his best scowl, and repeated his original sign in jabbing, forceful motions.

He could see Robin thinking. Robin drew his grapple and pointed it at the network of pipes above. His eyes never left Batman's. Challenging.

Batman made a horizontal cutting motion with his hand. _NO._

Robin fired his grapple. Batman lunged for him and caught him in by the foot. With Robin suspended six feet in the air, the plants suddenly began to rustle.

Batman's immediate fear was Poison Ivy. When the narrow black barrels of semi-automatic weapons poked out of the foliage, along with some serious-but-very-much-human men, he felt only momentary relief. His brief sweep estimated maybe 20 guns, pointed directly at Robin.

"Let go!" Robin yelled, fear sending his voice an octave higher than normal.

Batman did not let go. Instead, he leaped as he fired his grapple. With his other hand, he reached into the belt and flung what he found - tear gas pellets. He heard the gunfire and grimly grit his teeth. If he got hit now there was nothing he could do about it.

As if in slow motion, the slack in his line tightened and he felt himself starting to rise. With his free hand, he grabbed a handful of Robin's suit and hauled him close. Robin's arms and legs went around Batman's torso, making himself a smaller target. Gunfire, coughing and wrenching echoed in the room, making it impossible to know how many rounds were coming at them. Robin pulled his cape across Batman's chest, for further bullet protection.

Together they rose up into the piping network. Ten feet away was an air vent. Robin needed no urging. He kicked it open and crawled inside it, Batman close on his heels.

#

"I mean it, Alfred."

Dick finished putting all of Tim's suits and personalized equipment into the cave's vault. It had been a long time since the vault - rated to survive a nuclear fallout and with a combination designed by Bruce Wayne himself - had been used, but the combination was the same as he remembered. Until he changed it.

"Yes, Master Dick."

"He can't respect my rules, he doesn't get to go out."

"Of course, Master Dick."

"I don't care how much he sulks. Don't let him manipulate you."

Alfred coughed delicately.

"What?"

"Nothing, sir. I only seem to recall another young man who did not take well to ultimatums."

The muscles in Dick's cheek worked.

He'd been too angry to speak on the whole trip home. He'd convinced himself he was keeping his temper in check, even as he felt it growing in intensity. Once home, he'd laid into Tim. The boy had taken his tongue-lashing like a man, but then when Dick started to put all his things into the vault, he'd cursed Dick out with impressive language and two bright red spots on his cheeks, then stormed out of the cave.

Regret was starting to eat at the edges of Dick's righteous anger.

"He _blatantly_ disobeyed a direct order. _Two_ direct orders. He almost got us _killed_."

"Yes, sir."

"What happened?" Barbara asked from behind them.

Dick's eyes closed in misery. It couldn't get any worse.

"Tim's slamming a basketball against his wall like he wants to knock through it." Her voice was accusatory. She was glaring at him, arms folded tight against her ribs.

"What happened?" Dick fired back, "What happened is I took the little shit out like _you_ insisted, and he barreled right into a major operation. And then he disobeyed _another_ direct order, and nearly got us both killed. That's what happened."

Barbara blinked. She took in the rest of the scene she'd interrupted.

"And this," her chin jutted at the vault, "Is what, exactly?"

"Punishment."

A delicate copper eyebrow lifted. "And you think that will have a positive effect?"

"I don't care if it's positive. He disobeys the rules, he gets punished. That's how it works."

Barbara chewed her lip and looked to Alfred, who carefully looked away.

"You got something?" Dick asked irritably.

"I need a Batman. But if you're done in…"

"Can't it be Nightwing?"

They eyebrow lifted again. Dick cursed inwardly. Of course it couldn't be Nightwing. Nightwing hadn't been around long enough to instill any fear in Gotham's underworld. No one even knew who Nightwing was.

"Give me ten minutes." He growled, stalking off to where the suits were kept.

When he was out of earshot, Barbara turned to Alfred.

"Was it bad?"

"Quite."

Barbara sighed.

"I'll talk to him. Any change with Bruce?"

"Another surgery scheduled for tomorrow morning, to deal with some of the lesser injuries."

Barbara nodded. "Keep me posted and let me know if you need anything."

They heard a crash from the far side of the cave, followed by a curse.

Barbara and Alfred exchange tired, wry glances.

"I'm sure I can manage," the butler drawled, "just as I'm sure you'll have your hands full."

She snorted indelicately and went off in the direction of the crash, Alfred spared a moment for a hopeful thought. One he hadn't had in a long time.

#

Infiltrating GCPD headquarters was no big deal when you knew someone on the inside. Even better was knowing the schedule for rotation of the guards in the holding cells. So it was without much trouble that Batgirl and Batman slipped undetected through the linoleum halls and into March's cell.

March awoke to find two demons at the foot of his cot - one small, with flaming hair fanning out between the inhuman ears, the other a demon in black so dark it seemed to suck light from the darkness around it, a black hole of terror. Both stared at him with unblinking, ghostly eyes.

Only the small one's quick hands and quicker feet kept his yelp from raising the whole building to alarm.

"Quiet," it hissed, low and measured. "If we got in here, you know _the Lady_ can too. If you aren't careful, we may leave the cell door open and make it easy for her.

March swallowed, glaring equal amounts disgust and fear.

"Get out," he whispered thickly, his tongue suddenly heavy and dry in his mouth.

"We could take care of her for you," the small one told him matter-of-factly. "We've done it before."

March swallowed thickly.

"Is she in Gotham?"

March kept his face still.

"Bludhaven, then? But expanding?"

March tried hard not to look at the other figure, the one who loomed in the shadows. Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

"He doesn't want our help," said the small one to the big one. "He'd rather let _her_ flay him alive."

"No," March whimpered.

"No, what?" asked the small one.

March licked his lips. It didn't help. "Help me. She's insane. She does things…"

"The big one drew closer, moving as though floating above the ground. March leaned as far into the cinderblock wall as he could, but there was no getting away.

"Where is she?"

A shiver so strong is hurt ran from March's toes to the top of his head. Nothing human sounded like that.

Fear of them and the fear of the woman they referenced were blending together. He couldn't think straight.

"She… she enjoys it. Hurting people. Please," his whispers were coming faster, louder, "don't let her get me!"

The small one pushed its face into his, an inch away from his nose. The big one loomed overhead, blocking out the small light from the hall.

"Where?" they asked, their voices an ungodly stereo.

#

It was only just past midnight when the Batwing entered the air-space above Gotham. Batman settled in his co-pilot seat. He could spend the forty-minute flight familiarizing himself with the upgraded panel, or he could catch a quick nap.

His eyes hadn't been closed more than five seconds when he heard in his headset,

"You shouldn't be so hard on Tim."

Batman refused to answer.

"He hasn't known many adults who genuinely had his best interests at heart. You have to earn his trust."

The stone in the pit of his stomach grew a bit heavier. He sighed.

"Yeah. I was…" he trailed off. He'd been petrified when those guns came out of the marijuana plants. It was one thing to have them pointed at himself, to take his own life in his hands. But to be responsible for another, for a kid… he hated to admit it, but he was starting to look at some of his and Bruce's fights in a new light.

 _Or maybe it's not a kid's place out on the street in a cowl,_ argued another part of him. But it rang hollow - he knew Tim would have found a way out whether he permitted it or not. Hadn't he done the same when Tony Zucco came back to Gotham? And he'd been even younger than Tim. If not for Bruce… for Batman…

Bruce told Dick once, a long time ago, that he hadn't had a choice. It was training Dick, or let him become the same tortured soul as Bruce. Train Dick, or see him die from lack of training.

He hadn't realized how much of a commitment - not physical or financial, he knew about that, but — _emotional_ commitment Bruce had taken on in having a partner. A partner was another potential loss; unthinkable for the man who had lost his parents and never got over it. And yet… he'd taken a partner anyway. Three times, in fact.

Dick quickly changed the subject in his own mind before he got any further. Because if he went further, he suspected, he might have to rethink _a lot_ of what he knew about Bruce.

"Just tell him the truth." Said Batgirl.

"Okay. Tomorrow"

Once again he closed his eyes to doze, just for a few minutes, when,

"You all right back there?"

"Hm?"

"You're being way too agreeable."

Batman could hear the teasing in her voice, but also the hint of concern. He felt the warm flush spread from his core to his limbs.

"Don't tell me that displeases you."

"Oh, it pleases me to no end. But I'm starting to think you've been replaced by a pod person."

"No pod-person. Just… a more mature Dick, I guess. Blame the suit."

It was a moment before she said, quietly,

"… I have minimum ten jokes I could make about "Mature Dick" right now but that would make me the immature one. How dare you flip the script on me like this."

Batman grinned.

"You'll never beat me, Batgirl. Best give it up."

"Never."

#

"We're here."

Dick woke with a start and looked out the cockpit, but saw nothing but clouds in the dark.

"It should be fine - the building is older and I couldn't find any records of surveillance maintenance - but go check it out."

The cockpit slid open and a blast of frigid air blew down the front of Dick's suit. He shivered as he climbed out.

His feet hit gravel - the tar roof was crumbling away. It was an old mall; still operational, but just barely. The perfect rooftop to land a modest-sized aircraft, which Batgirl did when she got the signal from Batman. In the distance, he could see the highrises and skyscrapers of downtown Bludhaven.

"Her building is five blocks east and ten north," she said, coming up next to him and pointing. The wind howled around them. Batman swore he could see flurries starting to fall. He pulled the cape closer around him. Batgirl noticed.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Fine. Let's get going"

As they made their way to the target, Batgirl went over the plan, again and again, testing for weak spots or things she may have missed. This was supposed to be a recon mission: infiltrate the Lady's home and base of operations, see if any incriminating evidence could be found, and retreat. Simple enough, in theory. But she'd been doing this long enough to know that things were rarely simple for a vigilante.

They had agreed she would be the leader on this mission since they were operating off her intel.

While Batgirl double and tripled checked her mental inventory of intelligence, Batman focused on the immediate surroundings. He'd been to Bludhaven twice before, once as Dick and once as Robin. "Dump" didn't begin to cover it. The city was filthy. Garbage littered the street gutters. Homeless encampments of tents, shopping carts, and cardboard boxes made entire streets unusable. The streetlights were still a warm yellow - not yet replaced by cheaper and more efficient LED. Flying above it was like watching a movie set in 1980's New York.

But most strange was the lack of life. "El" train platforms were empty, as were street corners. Most businesses were dark and closed for the night. It was like the whole city shut the doors and locked them as soon as the sun went down. There weren't even any pigeons roosting on balconies or the underside of bridges. It wasn't a city decaying from within; it was already dead.

The target was a fifty-story skyscraper on the 'haven's "Gold Coast", facing the river. Here it was almost possible to think life could be good here. Batman and Batgirl accessed the elevator shaft from the basement, and from there it was just a matter of scaling the maintenance shaft to the penthouse. For housing such an important person, the shaft was remarkably low-tech. No hidden cameras, no silent alarms. It was almost too easy.

The penthouse was what they expected. Sleek but devoid of personality. Security was better up here too. It took Batgirl a few minutes to access the wireless network and install a looping patch that would mask their presence. Keeping watch, Batman mentally mapped the layout of the penthouse and possible emergency exits. A tap on his elbow told him she was finished.

She pointed down the left side of the hall - they had seen the most prominent balcony on that side of the building. Odds were good that was where either the office or bedroom was. Batman nodded and took point as Batgirl brought up the rear.

The double doors were unlocked. They opened onto a suite that functioned as both bedroom and office - jackpot. Batgirl beelined for the laptop on the desk, already pulling her mobile computer - a specially rigged smartphone - out from the pack on her back. She connected to the lighting port and went to work.

Batman didn't like it. It was too easy, even for a town that wasn't used to vigilantes who could break into lairs and foil evil plans.

"Hurry up." He whispered.

"Going as fast as I can."

A glance over his shoulder showed him she was copying as many file folders she could find, while also working on something else.

"What are you doing?"

"She's encrypted her IP address. I want to place a tracker so I'll know what she does, but I have to get in first. A few more minutes."

Batman didn't have time to reply. Something seized his ankle and yanked. He felt his whole body become airborne before landing flat on his back with a sickening thud. From the corner of his eye he saw, even as he still felt the pressure around his ankle, a grey-black _tentacle_ wrap around Batgirl's throat and lift her clear off her feet. She struggled violently, hands tearing at the tentacle.

Batman reached for his belt as he was dragged upside down into the air. He found what he was looking for - the batarang. He flung it at Batgirl and heard the slice of flesh as the batarang struck home. Batgirl dug her fingers into the wound, causing the tentacle to loosen its grip on her. She fell to the floor, gasping and reaching for her computer. The tentacle beat her to it - it swept the smartphone and laptop out of her reach.

Batgirl turned and leaped for something Batman couldn't see. But he felt the tentacle around his ankle loosen, and flipped right-side-up as he fell to the ground. He saw Batgirl shield him from … it had to be the Lady. She was… a shapeshifter, maybe? Or an alien? Some other thing he'd have to think about later? Six tentacles sprouted from the squat torso, from which a thick, bullish neck and extra-small head protruded. She seemed to stare down at them from about seven feet, her milky, slitted eyes flitting but not blinking. Strands of what looked like black hair were loosely planted around the head, like hairs on a spider. The mouth was… something else. Like a shark's, with rows and rows of teeth. They were filthy and caked with what, sickeningly, looked like old blood and flesh.

He'd never seen anything like it, that was for sure.

"Remember the plan!" Batgirl shouted.

Batman knew what she meant. She was closest the enemy. She should hold off the Lady while he went after the computer. And he knew instantly he would never, _ever_ let her take the full attention of that … thing. He moved to flank it, drawing Batgirl's attention. That was all the opening the Lady needed. She gathered her tentacles and launched herself, not for him, but Batgirl. Batgirl leaped but not far enough - three tentacles wrapped her up and dragged her towards the jaws, which were now opening wide.

Dick grabbed two more batarangs and felt himself running headlong to the creature, slashing as he went as though wielding sabers. He slashed two tentacles that reached for him and leaped over another that tried to trip him. At the last second that head turned a full 180 degrees and snapped at his hand. The batarang caught in the jaws, deeply enough that he had enough time to pull his hand back. The Lady reacted to something else - Batgirl had jammed her boot knife deep into the creature's hip. Seizing the moment, Batman grabbed Batgirl's arm and dragged as she kicked and twisted free of the tentacles. Batman's arm went around her waist and the other covered his face as he took them crashing through the window and plummeting to the street below.

#

They did not stop until they were back at the mall. The normal zig-zag routine the would have taken was also abandoned in favor of a straight shot. They didn't have to talk about it. Both knew they had to get to the batwing as quickly as possible.

They were silent as they went through pre-flight. Even a thousand feet in the air and on their way back home, they didn't talk.

They returned to an empty cave. A note on the supercomputer informed them Alfred had taken Tim to visit Bruce, and they would likely spend the night.

Dick ripped the cowl off his face and raked fingers through hair that was stiff with frozen sweat. Batgirl was already at the computer. She hadn't once looked at him since their escape.

"Can we debrief tomorrow? I need to fall into bed."

Off her silence,

"Barb?"

"What's the point?" Her voice was icy. Dick's temper flared. He was in no mood.

"Protocol, as you well know."

"Oh," she was up and out of the chair, coming for him with eyes blazing and hands in tight fists. "Now you want to follow protocol? I'll tell you what, the _protocol_ would have been great back at the penthouse when you were supposed to get the intel we risked our lives for."

"If I had you'd be dead."

"That's not the point."

Dick threw up his arms. "Then what is the point? You'd prefer I left you to be eaten by that monster, so long as I brought the computer back safe and sound?"

"I would've handled it. I always handle it."

Dick sneered. " 'Thank you,' is the appropriate response, I think. Since I just saved your life, yet again."

Batgirl swung. It was so fast and unexpected that he didn't have time to fully dodge - her right fist skidded off his left cheekbone.

Even though he was thoroughly surprised, his body immediately moved to block her. She immediately countered, her elbow banging into his collarbone painfully. He kicked and landed a blow right in her stomach. She dropped and spun, sweeping his ankles. Only a back handspring saved him from being dumped on his ass.

"What's the matter, Grayson? You won't hurt me. Fight back."

"Stop it."

"Make me."

She ran at him and swung for his left. He grabbed her arm and levered her around… and she used the extra speed to kick out the back of his knee. Dick fell, taking Batgirl down on top of him.

He rolled and pinned her, twisting the arm up behind her back and locking her legs in his.

They were nose to nose, breathing hard. Dick could see the flecks of copper in her eyes, the glisten of her lips. She struggled hard to unseat him. He crushed his mouth to hers.

Batgirl tore her mouth away and with a burst of strength he didn't know she had, flipped him over and kneed him hard in the solar plexus.

Winded, Dick stilled. Batgirl froze, eyes locked on his. Then she seized the sides of his head and brought her mouth on his in a searing, bruising kiss. He tried to sit up, she forced him down. One hand left his face and was feeling for the hidden seal of his suit. He helped her, and her palm burned against his skin. She sat up briefly to unzip her suit - he peeled it off her as she divested him of his. Dick briefly lamented that her cowl was still on, until his brain fogged with sensation and he thought no more.


End file.
